


Moonlight

by hadashi (sumiregusa)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, historical accuracy but mostly inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumiregusa/pseuds/hadashi
Summary: After the defeat of Japan in the Russo-Japanese War over a warm water port, Russian nobility decides to bind the two countries through a political marriage. Upon hearing the news, Empress Masako murders all of her daughters and omega children before killing herself. With no eligible candidate left among his children, the emperor sends his young nephew, Yuuri, to marry their prince.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Background information on the historical (in)accuracy:  
> -my sources are basically Wikipedia and "Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman" by Rovert K. Massie, therefore everything in this won't always be true even though I am trying to make it as accurate as possible even though I am taking some artistic liberties due to ignorance and my want of the fashion created by Nicholas I during the 19th century  
> -I really hate having dates so this story takes place after Peter the Great's reign, who would essentially be Viktor's grandfather in this (so during the 18th century circa Catherine the Great era essentially but no specific date)  
> -instead of the Romanov dynasty it's the Nikiforov dynasty  
> -also, Viktor is the Russian spelling of Victor so that's how it will be spelled from here on out
> 
> Sidenotes:  
> -age differences are the same in the canon  
> -male omegas use male pronouns but titles (i.e.: queen, empress) are often feminine in order to differentiate them from their husband(s); if they have kids they are often called "mother" though I hc that in modern times like today they can use their masculine or feminine terms (it's just an old fashioned thing really)  
> -rating may go up  
> -also, I don't speak any Japanese or Russian, so there's probably not going to be any actually Russian/Japanese sentences but I might throw in a few words here or there  
> -if you know anything about Russian/Japanese history/culture/language that are portrayed drastically inaccurate or could help this story please let me know because that would be great

Viktor was seventeen when the Empress of Japan killed all of her omega children and daughters and then herself to avoid them being married to Russian nobility. He was perplexed by this, having heard of the stories during the war of entire villages throwing themselves into the sea to avoid living under conquered rule. Yet now he felt responsible for the deaths of the empress and her children. 

His father’s foot was tapping against the carpeted floor in his office, where he had called in Viktor to discuss this matter. His father was a king, and the son of kings. He was built like a bull, all shoulder. Viktor had some of features, such as his nose and jaw, but that was where the resemblance ended. He resembled his mother more, with his slimmer figure and eyes and hair. His younger brother was blooming into a replica of their father before he had passed. 

The prince could now see the age that had consumed his father. The valleys between his brows had deepened, the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced. Even the war had taken a toll on his fingers, now stiffer and plump. The king ran around his hair, drawing through the black hair now streaked with gray. While their empire had crumbled, so had their father. 

“What is going to happen now?” Viktor found himself asking. Part of him didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to marry the omega Prince Masara, but he didn’t wish the fate that fell upon him and his family. 

“The emperor is sending us his nephew,” the king murmured. “He’s a newly presented omega, and besides being the nephew of the emperor, his mother married into one of the leading noble clans as well.”

“Oh,” Viktor said, stunned. He hadn’t expected there to be a solution to come to this problem so fast. “What is his name?”

“Yuuri.” His father sat up from his chair and walked to the large windows in his office. The snow was falling from the overcast sky, blanketing the world in pure white. “It can easily be changed to Russian,” he said, his tone shifting from quiet solemnity to gruff command. “He shall arrive in a few weeks time, and then you two shall be wedded.” He paused, thinking. “It’s time to put this war behind us. Ahead, the future is bright.”

/////

It started because of the harbors. 

Russia was famous for it’s icy, cold terrain. Most of the land was nearly uninhabitable due to the freezing temperatures. Depending on where one lived, the summers were actually quite pleasant. The winter, however, could be unbearable. Everything froze, including the ocean. 

Seeking warmer waters, Emperor Petyor turned east towards Japan.  

/////

Nearly a month later, he arrived. 

The Japanese ambassador, Abe Fujiwara, presented him to the court. He himself wore the Russian court attire, while the young Japanese lord wore robes. 

_ A kimono,  _ Viktor reminded himself. He admired the deep, blue silk. Thin, brown branches sprouted across the hanging sleeves and his shoulders, tiny white flowers frozen in mid-blossom. At the hem, brown and green pheasants fluttered. His belt was wide and thick, covering most of his torso in red silk with gold embroidery. He was a vision of color, but he was also quite small. 

He looked around in wonder, brown eyes wide. He took steady steps toward them at his own pace, only seeming to be listening to half of what Fujiwara was saying. 

“He looks quite young,” Viktor’s mother, Illari, said. 

“He turned thirteen in November,” Fujiwara announced, though there was no pride or satisfaction in his voice. 

“Oh,” Illari almost seemed to gasp. His hand looked ready to cover his mouth, yet remained frozen in front of his face. “And he has already had his first heat?”

“Yes,” Fujiwara said slowly. “According to his father, he had his first heat shortly after Empress Masako’s death.”

Ilari looked at his husband, eyes narrowed. “Petyor,” he started before the alpha cut him off. 

“Viktor, accompany your betrothed to his new rooms,” the emperor ordered. 

The prince was too stunned by the boy’s age to react immediately.  _ Thirteen,  _ he thought.  _ They expect me to consummate my marriage with a  _ thirteen  _ year old _ . 

“Viktor,” his father repeated, louder. 

He walked stiffly over to Fujiwara and Yuuri, giving a sharp bow. The Japanese boy blinked before copying the movement, his hands folded in front of his lap and there was a slight bend to his knee. His black hair fell in front of his eyes, the neck arched up towards Viktor so that he could see the smooth, unblemished skin there. 

_ Thirteen,  _ Viktor thought, feeling slightly sick. 

He offered the younger his arm. Yuuri stared at it for a moment before turning to Fujiwara in question. The older man quickly explained in their native language what was happening. With a short nod, Yuuri delicately looped his arm through Viktor’s, and allowed the Russian prince to lead him out of the throne room and through the halls. He could hear his mother barking something at his father, obviously angered. His father did not reply, but he could feel the eyes burning through his shirt.

Viktor came to realize that Yuuri was a shy child as they walked through the palace. He never made eye contact with Viktor and never spoke unless Viktor asked him a question. These questions had to be translated by Fujiwara, who followed the young couple diligently with a few servants in tow. 

“Can you ask him what he likes to eat so I can have a chef prepare him a meal tonight,” Viktor said to Fujiwara. The older man nodded, uttering it to Yuuri. A quizzical look came upon Yuuri’s face before he answered. 

“He says his favorite food is katsudon,” Fujiwara answered the prince. When Viktor glanced at the two Japanese in confusion, he continued. “It’s essentially deep fried pork cutlet with rice, egg, and vegetables.”

“Ah,” Viktor responded, not sure what else he expected. “If you know the recipe, I can give it to the chef to make for Yuuri. It won’t be authentic, but I hope it helps him feel a little more at home here.”

Fujiwara translated what Viktor said. Yuuri’s face flushed and he bobbed his head, not speaking. 

The Russian prince continued to ask Yuuri questions. The latter would respond quickly and simply, but he never asked any questions of his own. It irked Viktor a little since he saw it as Yuuri having no interest in him despite the fact that he appreciated his straightforward answers. The young alpha also reminded himself that Yuuri was a foreigner and the bride to be of the future ruler of an empire that destroyed his own. 

Yuuri’s new quarters were lavish, as expected of Russian nobility. Gold and silver and silk. Viktor watched his betrothed touch the dark wood of the bed, fingers skimming over the carved surface. He gingerly sat on the edge, looking around the room in amazement. 

He glanced at the bookshelf filled with foreign words, the ornate mirror and changing screen, and the rich desk. Even Viktor had to admit that the room was unusually gorgeous. He bet that his mother was placed in charge of it. His own mother had been born into a minor noble family. His lifestyle drastically changed when Viktor’s grandmother chose him to marry her son. He often told Viktor stories of first arriving to the palace, what a dream like or fairy tale experience it had been. As Viktor grew older, he understood that his mother’s experiences were not as beautiful as he described them. The tales he spun were only there to entertain Viktor.

Yuuri suddenly wiped at his eyes, breaking Viktor out of his thoughts. Warm tears were slipping from his brown orbs as he hastily began to rub them away. Viktor did not ask what was wrong because he already knew the answer.

/////

Yuuri winced when the maid pulled on the strings of the corset. One hand shakily came to rest on his chest as he tried to regulate his breathing which became increasingly more difficult.

“Don’t make the corset too tight,” Empress Illari said when he saw Yuuri sway a little on the podium. 

“Yes, your majesty,” the maid bowed her head. Her nimble fingers hurriedly undid the stress and Yuuri’s shoulder visibly sagged with relief. 

“The European style of clothing must be quite strange to Prince Yuuri,” the empress said without looking to Fujiwara.

“Oh, yes,” he responded, glancing down at his polished shoes. “Compared to our kimonos, this is like putting on armor.”

The empress hummed in response, blue eyes narrowing slightly. Viktor resembled him greatly compared to his father. Illari would look even more like Viktor if he lost the ice in his eyes. He was quite beautiful, the empress; his gaze demanded order and every cough was nothing less than a command. The ground seemed to kiss his slippered feet and the curtains shivered in delight when he entered a room. Despite his attractiveness, everyone knew that there was no sun in him. 

Many have speculated it was because his marriage was arranged to Petyor. Rumors have floated through the capital that he was in love with a soldier before he was betrothed. Others said it was because of Petyor’s affair with the other omega, Ilya Ivanovich Plisetsky, that produced another son. But maybe the true winter set in after the death of the young prince perished of smallpox all those years ago. 

Fujiwara was not one to dwell on such matters. It was not his place too. Yet the empress was a person who had a duty to fulfill, a certain role to perform. It was common knowledge that many of royalty put up a facade not only for their people, but for the nobility around them and visiting foreign dignitaries. It was a mask to keep hidden any dirty secrets or fear. 

The Japanese man often wondered what it was that the empress was trying to hide. If he ever found out what it was, it would never be of any use to him. But he began to think that the mask melted in and became a part of Illari, rather than an outward appearance. 

He looked at Yuuri’s reflection in the mirror. He saw his small face, the pudgy cheeks, the miniscule frown on his face as a seamstress hustled around him trying to get the correct measurements. The childlike innocence and naivete had continued to linger on him despite everything that has happened. Fujiwara felt a small part of him sink when he thought about quickly it would fade. He wondered how long it would be until Yuuri became an empress, and how long it would be until he became Illari.  

/////

Of the servants the young lord had brought, one in particular caught Viktor’s eyes. She acted as a governess to Yuuri, but Viktor later learned that she was actually a dance instructor, having learned ballet herself. Yuuri only referred to her as Okukawa-sensei. She quietly followed Yuuri with Fujiwara and even sat in on his lessons. Yuuri was forbidden to bring any of his original tutors with him from Japan. They were quickly replaced by Viktor’s parents. 

His own mother decided to take charge of Yuuri’s new education. Since the boy did not speak Russian, the most important task was that he learned it. An onslaught of new tutors arrived at the palace. One to teach him the Russian language, another to teach him the rules of the court, and more came for the upbringing of his academics, many of them coming from the Imperial Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg. 

Russian was crucial for Yuuri to learn. He would wake up and study in the morning, even having breakfast in his rooms in order to keep doing so. After that, came the real lessons. The empress hired a language professor to help him. The professor, Alexei Mikhailovich Anokhin, was a surprisingly patient man, who was also well versed in Japanese. Fujiwara still remained, as did the Japanese dancer who watched everything with narrowed eyes. Yuuri would learn Russian for a little over two hours before switching onto another subject. Professor Anokhin would return in the evening to continue their lessons until bedtime. Profess Anokhin also helped take charge of teaching Yuuri’s Russian history, as the original teacher could not find any way to explain it to him without speaking in his native tongue. 

Yuuri was taught the natural world by a man only called Professor Staehlin. He would take Yuuri outside to show him the world. Fujiwara translated the the winter was not as exciting as the spring and summer, when the gardens took full bloom. He showed him the evergreen trees and brought in books with pressed flowers and illustrations. Everyone could tell he was quite fond of Yuuri, especially by gentle treatment he gave the boy. 

Geography was taught in a similar fashion. Yakov Feltsman was one of the king’s closest advisors, yet he had taken the task of helping expand the young lord’s knowledge. He as well could not speak Japanese. Despite Yuuri’s eagerness to learn, he was still not fluent in Russian. Yakov brought in maps and atlases. He pointed at the countries, showing the expansive territory of Russian, the Western countries of Europe, and the New World. He saw Yuuri’s hand linger of the island nation of Japan, but he did not say anything. 

Viktor almost felt bad for Yuuri. His schooling was overwhelming and nonstop. He had accompanied Yuuri once as he walked through the palace, listening to Professor Bunin explain the architecture as Fujiwara translated. He knew Yuuri enjoyed the fact that many of his lessons were walking side by side with his tutors, since they all knew very well that his next lesson with be with learning the French language with his new French governess, who was by all means unrelenting. 

He gave a small smile when he remembered what Fujiwara had told him after Yuuri had a sudden and unexpected outburst. “He said he doesn’t understand why  _ French _ is the language of  _ Russian  _ court,” Fujiwara grinned. Viktor had to agree with him. He remembered being drilled in all the French conjugations as a child. He still shivered at the word “subjunctive”. 

Yuuri enjoyed his dance lessons the most. He was already quite good at it, surprisingly already knowing ballet from his Okukawa-sensei. Lilia Baranovskaya was his charge. She was a cold, stiff looking woman. Similar to Yuuri’s French governess, she was unmerciful when teaching. She let Yuuri dance a bit to ballet, but focused most on him learning the court dances that he would undoubtedly be expected to perform at the balls. 

Viktor also had to attend these lessons every now and then upon his mother’s request. His mother sometimes made him sit in on Yuuri’s lessons so he would be less alone. He knew that it was his attempt at to get them to bond with each other before the wedding. The empress also insisted that ballroom dancing could not be done by yourself.

Yuuri was incredibly small against him and avoided looking at his face whenever they danced. They often stepped on each other’s feet, but rarely did they comment on it. Lilia, however, did. 

For two hours every day, Yuuri was required to study theology. Viktor had nearly forgotten that he would have to convert in order to become part of Russian nobility. After nearly a month of all of his schooling, Yuuri could babble a bit of the Orthodox doctrine, and could speak some Russian, although ungrammatically. Viktor’s presents, as were other members of the court, were impressed by his fast learning. 

“He’s a quick study,” Viktor’s father announced after he managed to have a short conversation with Yuuri. All the questions they asked him were childish. 

_ What is your name? How old are you? What is the weather like today? What is your favorite color? _

Viktor’s other younger brother, who shared the same name as Yuuri, could easily speak more intelligibly than him. But it was still a feat nonetheless. Due to his ability to now speak the language, albeit shaky and still underdeveloped, the emperor decided it was time for Yuuri’s baptism. 

For three days Yuuri was not allowed to eat. He wallowed in his studies, unable to focus. His tutors were unsympathetic to his whims. Only Professor Staehlin halted his lessons to let Yuuri sink in what was happening. He would let his young pupil absentmindedly flip through his many books of flowers, not minding the silence. 

Yakov also seemed to pity the boy, but to a lesser extent than Staehlin. He brought in old medals and coins from art museums and let Yuuri touch them. He tried to make his lessons more interesting by talking about the conquests of nearby kingdoms. He only realized his mistake by Yuuri’s misty eyes and sniffles.

Viktor visited Yuuri the evening before his conversion. He only spoke of his own day, not sure how to directly address the issue Yuuri faced. Viktor had grown up with the Orthodox religion. He was baptized as an infant, he attended church and mass. He did not comprehend the fear and desperation of rejecting one’s faith in favor of an enemy’s. 

Okukawa-sensei sat in a chair in the corner, humming to what Viktor thought was a lullaby. Yuuri seemed to be paying more attention to her than him, which irked the prince. Without Fujiwara to translate, Viktor knew he was essentially talking to a brick wall. He made his move to leave before he felt a small tug on his hand. He looked back and saw Yuuri with his big eyes staring at him. 

The boy said something in Japanese. Viktor blinked. Yuuri bit his bottom lip, eyes looking up in thought. 

“Hair,” he said in a heavy accent. He reached to touch Viktor’s long hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. “ _ Eto…  _ weave?”

“Weave?” Viktor echoed.

A small sigh came out of Yuuri before the young boy tugged him along. Viktor could feel Okukawa-sensei staring at them as Yuuri gestured for him to sit in another chair near hers. Yuuri stumbled behind him, still not used to the bell shaped skirts of the dresses worn in the court. 

Viktor could tell what was happening when he felt Yuuri untie the thin, leather cord that bound his hair. Small fingers massaged his scalp, untangling the platinum tresses. There was the faintest pull as Yuuri began to braid his hair. Yuuri hummed lightly, filling in the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor could see Okukawa-sensei falling asleep in her chair. 

_ Where does she even sleep?  _ Viktor thought before dismissing it. 

Yuuri’s hands were deft at braiding his hair. It was tight, but not uncomfortably so, and even elegant. When Yuuri reknotted the cord at the base, Viktor pulled it over his shoulder to get a look at it. He caught the faintest whiff of Yuuri’s mellow scent that lingered on it. Pleased, he gave Yuuri a gentle smile and stood up. 

“I will see you tomorrow,” he told him. He took Yuuri’s right hand and placed a chaste kiss on his knuckles. “Good night.” 

Yuuri’s face feel for a moment. Then he stepped back and said to him, “G-good night.” He bowed at the waist as Viktor exited, the smell of anxiety fresh in the air. 

/////

As expected, Yuuri did not look well the next morning. Viktor could tell he did not sleep easy as he fidgeted in his new dress. It was nearly identical to his mother’s: heavy, scarlet, silk taffeta, embroidered with silver threads along the seams. The only real difference was that his mother was more ablaze with precious gems. Diamonds, rubies, and hints of emeralds. Yuuri only wore a simple brooch that he frequently touched during their walk to the crowded palace chapel. The prince and his father wore their military uniforms, despite the fact that Viktor had never fought in a war. 

Viktor walked him up to the square cushion that Yuuri would have kneel on for the entire ceremony. He gave the boy a small smile of reassurance before he joined his parents. 

The ceremony was long, nearly arduous form the boredom. Yuuri’s forehead, eyes, neck, throat, palms, and the backs of his hands were anointed with oil then wiped away immediately afterwards. To Yuuri, this conversions would be nothing more than another piece of schoolwork. He played his part by speaking a clear, firm voice the memorized Russian he studied the days before the ceremony. He recited the creed of his new faith, hearing a woman weep behind him as he did so. 

He was baptized as  _ Yuri _ and given the artificial patronymic of Alekseyevich.

Once the ceremony was over, he was gifted a diamond necklace that the emperor himself wrapped around his neck. Viktor couldn’t help but think that it was nothing more than an expensive noose by the way Yuuri looked. Fujiwara interpreted Yuuri’s mumblings that he wanted to be excused from the banquet so that he could save his energy for the betrothal ceremony tomorrow. 

The new convert left silently, Okukawa-sensei following him. Viktor watched him go as pity spread through him. He looked back at his parents, their faces neutral, as if they could not find it in themselves to sympathize for the young boy.

/////

“Grand duchess,” Yuuri said in Japanese, staring up at his right hand from where he lay in the bed. The gold ring glinted faintly in the candlelight. 

“Your serene highness,” Minako said with a mock bow. Yuuri giggled, moving over for Minako to crawl into the bed with him. Her scent reminded him of his mother’s for some reason. Both smelled of freshly baked bread on a cold day. It was comforting, and Yuuri needed it. 

The betrothal ceremony was a grand affair. Lots of people, lots of walking. The emperor himself gave the two teenagers the rings. The ceremony itself lasted nearly four hours without being able to sit down. Then after that, Yuuri was greeted by many nobles who were just as eager to meet him as he was them – which it to say, not at all. Many were still against having a Japanese empress, though no one acted on their thoughts. The animosity in the room was more passive aggressive than anything. And Viktor had kept a firm watch on him. The older wasn’t exactly protective of him. Rather, he knew his duty, which was to his country, as was Yuuri’s.

He snuggled up against Minako, his head on her chest. He heard the steady beat of her heart, a drum that always lulled him to sleep. Minako ran her svelte hands through his black hair. 

“On sweet one,” she murmured, “who knew you would one day be engaged to the grand duke of Russia?”

Yuuri shook his head, burrowing further into his side. He wanted to forget that he would never go back home, that he would never see his parents or older sister again. His longing for home often distracted him from his studies. Madame Babet, his governess and French Hugenot, scolded and pinched him for his restlessness. His other teachers noticed his drop in emotion the closer the baptism and betrothal grew near. 

He sighed, peeking over Minako’s shoulder to see the picture window on the opposite wall. The curtain had not been fully draw, leaving a crack large enough for light to filter through. It had a view of the garden, which still looked lovely in the winter. Between his tutors Yuuri would often look outside. Sometimes he would see servants walking to and fro, noble couples in linked arms, and sometimes a little boy hopping among the snow drifts. 

But now it was night, and Yuuri could see see nothing of it in velvety darkness. He could feel Minako’s body sagging against his own, her breath evening out against his ear. He was left alone to look at the frozen stars in the sky and the cloud that draped the face of the moon like a wedding veil.


End file.
